The MarySue Man
by uninvisible
Summary: [CH 3 up!] "Where do you think they come from, Santa? Little gnomes?" "That wouldn’t surprise me. The gnomes are everywhere…"
1. Chapter 1 Ze Wheelbarrow

Disclaimer: I don't own the newsies, policemen, or Britney Spears's songs (although I do have a copy of her CD for some reason). I don't own us, which hopefully, belongs to ourselves, respectively. I don't own the Mary- Sues or the man, but if you wish to take them, you may. But why anyone would want them is beyond me. A/N: This isn't my first fan fiction, but it is the first I've ever put on a site, so more to come !  
  
A man in tattered clothes trudges down the street. What is he doing? He seems to be carrying some things in the wheelbarrow he pushes.. but what? Let us go closer. As we can see, there is hair: golden hair, the color of deceased goldfish. Raven hair, as black as a drug addict's pupils. Red hair, the color of an octopus set on fire. All are thick and shiny, like oil puddles, no matter whether they are thick and straight or thick and curly. There are eyelids, all closed, complete with eyelashes, abnormally long. There are the poutiest, red lips. Although they appear to be teenagers, they have clear skin, the envy of us all, and naught a (dare we say it) pimple to be seen. There is a rainbow of dresses, although somewhat limited to the number of colors of skittles.  
  
As we peer closer, we can see the man is tired. Who would blame him? He is carting around a large load of what appears to be girls. Pretty ones, at that. Again, we ask. Why?  
  
"COME ONE!!! COME ALL!!!"  
  
We jump back with a start. Who would guess such a weary man could shout so loud? He seems not to notice us, but this is normal. We are just girls, carrying strange gray boxes, dreamers, and crazy in all, imagining adoring boys into our lives. Besides, if this is what we think it is, then we have gone back in time. (Really, at the rate of time travel we do, wouldn't the characters from Alias be yelling at us by now?)  
  
While we are contemplating this, we are missing what else he is shrieking at a totally unnecessary loud volume. He is still alone in the streets, save for a couple constables, sleepily tottering about. The newsies should be out by now, crazily dancing and singing the song that they sing every single morning, unceasingly perky, nimble, and more unnaturally flexible than dancers.  
  
Perhaps we spoke too soon, for there we hear the voices. All of us perk up our ears, hoping to catch a strain of our favorite newsie singing. "OHMYGAWD!!!" One of us shrieks. We are uncertain of her name, since we did not hold a casting call before going back in time. "THAT'S ITEY'S VOICE!!!" The unnamed girl shrieks again, and with a deliriously happy sigh, faints into arms of fellow crazed writers. How she managed to pick out the particular boy's voice out of them all is certainly a mystery.  
  
Amazingly enough, the man pushing the wheelbarrow still pays no heed of us, but continues his incessant screaming. We still haven't been paying close enough attention to what he's saying.  
  
"STEP RIGHT UP, GET YOUR VERY OWN MARY SUE, RIGHT HERE!!!"  
  
Psycho music plays in the background at the mention of this horrid title, the fear, love, and inevitable trap of every one of us. We stare at each other in horror and shock, eyes wide. The music is so loud, the first unnamed girl wakes up, faints again, and right before hitting ready arms, wakes up again. In fact, the psycho music must be louder than we all thought, for the man with the wheelbarrow turns to us with a confused look on his face and says, "Say, where's dat music comin' from?" We shrug in unison. He stares at us strangely. "Whatever it is, stop it. It's gonna scare away da customers."  
  
Like an answer to prayer, or maybe not, the first strains of Britney Spears's "Lucky" suddenly starts playing. The man stares again, in horror. "Please, no. Anything but that." He shudders. Even the policemen are writhing on the ground, in time to the music, of course. "WHYYY does she cryyyy?" One howls, sobbing uncontrollably. The music abruptly stops, and changes to the Veggie Tales theme song, but in elevator music form. The man opens his mouth, then thinks better of it, and closes it again.  
  
Even though this description takes a long time to write in our minds, it has happened in only a mere 10 seconds. Amidst the Veggie Tale music from hell, we suddenly realize the cheerful newsie song has stopped. There's a loud rumbling sound, coming from all sides. At times, we hear odd screams like, "It's the Mary-Sue Man!!" and "Give me yer money!!"  
  
The policemen are still writhing on the ground, but suddenly stop, stand up, brush off their uniforms, and run off wildly, their heels kicking up dust. We are quite disturbed, looking about searching for the source of the ruckus. The man with the wheelbarrow is not perturbed, however. In fact, he seems to be in a state of euphoria. "Ahhh," he sighs, his eyes closed. "Customers."  
  
Indian war whoops, wild and manly yells, and even yodeling surrounds us. All of a sudden, there are countless boy stampeding and spilling into the streets towards the man. We are quite totally, trampled to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the boys have all crowded around the man and his hated wheelbarrow, shoving each other to get to it first. For the most part, we are no longer stepped on.  
  
Except for the first unnamed girl, who has the misfortune of being a standing-on-thing for two newsies, both peering over the crowd at the wheelbarrow hopefully. She growls at them quite viciously, but they don't seem to be frightened at all, although some of us are. In the end, she reaches up over her back, and promptly slaps their bottoms. They let out startled gasps and move, not unlike cows, but soon resume the hopeful, sickening gaze.  
  
The man is VERY happy. "Allright boys, jist line up and tell me what you want, and I'll see what I'se can do," he screams over the din. No luck. He tries again, yelling the same thing. Still nothing. The boys are still arguing with each other. He yells, "GIRLS!!" Well, that does it; they all shut up, staring at him. "WHERE?? Give 'em to me now!!" A crazed Mush yells. "Mary-Sue!! Mary-Sue!!" Boots, Blink, and Skittery join in with a Neanderthal type chant.  
  
Of course, we are horrified at seeing the loves of our lives succumbing to such fearful beauty. But we are frozen to the spot and cannot move. We do not know why, but that is the way things work when Mary-Sues are amuck and akimbo.  
  
Jack grabs the man by the shoulders and shakes him violently. "I wanna Mary- Sue, one wit' long, brown hair, violet eyes, rosebud mouth, a firey attitude, an' is runnin' from her fatha because he killed her motha'," he growls. "Oh, an' who knows how ta beat me up," he adds as an afterthought.  
  
The man nods, sweating slightly from the shaking. He mutters to himself, looking through his wheelbarrow, pushing aside bodies until he finds the particular girl. He pulls her out carefully. She seems to be unconscious, and is slumped over prettily in the man's arms.  
  
Jack grabs for the girl, but the man hastily pulls her away. "Ya gotta pay first.." The newsie grumbles, but hands over something. He does it so quickly, we cannot tell what it is, but the man snatches it greedily, and after some inspection, he is mollified. "Would ya like her ta be placed in an alley, harassed in an alley, or perhaps drowned, sir?" he asks primly.  
  
"Nah," Jack eyes the girl. "Jist gimme her now." With a roll of his eyes, the man gives the girl to him. Jack lets out a holler of delight. "YahOOOOO!!! Me own Mary-Sue, finally!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." He runs through the crowd of disgruntled newsies and down the street, holding the girl to his chest.  
  
Racetrack, who is next in line, stares after Jack for a bit, but shrugs his shoulders and proceeds to tell the man what he wants. By now, half of us have either fainted, gone into hysterics, or are ranting and threatening to kill the man and his dreaded minions of Mary-Sues. What will become of us? Will we be doomed to write about the Mary-Sues forever?  
  
A/N: Coming up next – SPOT, and most likely the ending. I'd finish it all now, but what with college applications and such.. ugh, it'll have to wait. R|R, please ! 


	2. Chapter 2 STRIKE!

A/N: That's so cool, I've never gotten reviews before!! Heee. ::preens:: Thanks so much, you're all awesome! Sorry I haven't updated, I've been busy with finals and filling out college applications and all this other crap. Okay, okay, bad excuse. ::runs away:: 

We are all horrified, a pack of angry, hysterical, Newsie-craving mob of Mary-Sue haters. This adventure has brought nearly half of us to our knees, as one by one, we see our beloved boys give in to the Mary-Sue revolution. 

Jack, Racetrack, and most of the newsies who already have their Mary-Sues have initialized the Mary-Sue launch sequence. Conveniently and sadly, this sequence consists of kissing the Mary-Sues while sort of "innocently" rubbing their backsides. 6 of us have begun to go into convulsions at the sight. The once-limp dreaded beauties with perfect personalities are now alive dreaded beauties with perfect personalities. They are about and walking, mocking us with their wondrously clear skin and perfectly sculpted bodies. How _do_ they do that, anyway? You'd think once in a while they'd get a hangnail, but noo, even through running through filth and beating up evil newsies, not one nail is torn, or strand of hair astray. 

It's amazing, really, that none of us have started to attack them. Oh never mind, this is a lie. A girl along, with the first unnamed girl have gone berserk and are starting to beat a Mary-Sue up. Racetrack is looking on with a mix of horror and what appears to be an inkling of turned-on-ness. Apparently, these attackers are great Racetrack enthusiasts. 

Unfortunately, they have forgotten that Mary-Sues can do anything, which includes kicking fan fiction authors' butts, whether it is one at a time, or two in one shot. In fact, they can probably defeat entire armies at a time. Forget weapons of mass destruction, we ought to send Mary-Sues off to Afghanistan instead.

_Thump_. 

Oh, dear. 

We all rush over to the girls, who are currently shaking their fists in a menacing fashion at the perfect, dare we say it, female dog and shouting obscenities. Sadly, this has no effect on her. This must be one of the perfect ones who has total control over her temper and does not blow up at every gust of wind. 

Kiwi fuzz. 

She sticks her nose in the air with an audible _humph_, and taking Racetrack's arm, sweeps away. We are quite upset, but we take some consolation in the fact that Racetrack is looking back at us with a look of (could it be?) longing in his eyes. 

The girls get up, brushing themselves off, still quite upset. "WE OUGHT TO SOAK HER!!" Says one. 

"Yeah!! NO ONE messes with MY Race!!" Swears the other. She looks rather possessed. And as an afterthought, "oh, except for YOU of course," she says to the other author. The other looks a little disgruntled, but before she can open her mouth to say anything, we decide to do something about these Mary-Sues. 

"We can't let them take over our boys! We MUST do something!" Says a girl, pointing her hand to the sky, rather like Jack. 

Several girls tilt their heads upward to look at the sky.

She ignores these girls, apparently lost in deep thought. "We…" She trails off. "WE'LL GO ON STRIKE!!!" 

We gasp. "What?" We ask her. 

"We'll be like the boys!! Are we just going to let our creations take over the newsies, or are we going to strike?" 

Before we can holler "STRIKE!!" like we are supposed to, we hear a familiar voice say, "Nevah feah, Brooklyn is heah!!" 

"SPOT!!!!" About half of us are at our knees, thankful that Spot is here. Surely he is strong enough to withstand the awesome power of the Mary-Sues. Well.. he's gotta. He'll save us, and perhaps snog some of us within inches of our lives. 

He comes hurtling out of the sky, seemingly out of no where, holding onto a cable pulley. Where did that come from? This is getting all too familiar. He kicks the backs of two newsies out of the way. 

Oh, no. Could it be? 

"Outta da way, punks. It's MY toin." 

Apparently, it could be. And it will. How _could_ he?? Doesn't he know how poisonous these monsters are? 

A wretched sound is cutting through the air, making everyone stop short in their tracks. We realize it is coming from us. Spot was our last hope; without him, we're hardly anything! "NOOOO!!!!!!"

He turns around, a very aggravated look on his face. A collective sigh runs through our rag-tag, valiant group. Even though he's affiliating with the enemy and is angry with _us_, we obviously still think he is quite dishy. "He's SO sexy," murmurs one girl. 

He smirks. Apparently, he heard her. "Whatsa mattah, it's my toin! Ya'll get yer turn soon enough." 

Boys. So oblivious. And now he's gotten a girl who looks like a bimbo, but of course in terms of Mary-Sues, she would never be a bimbo. She would be a startlingly intellectual persona who initiates creative and insightful conversations that would make him stop and think and wonder what a wonderful, unusual girl she is, how different she is from "all the others." Not to mention, she'd be a great fighter that could kick his ass if she wanted to, but isn't going to. Of course, this is all speculation. 

"That does it!!" Exclaims the girl, who has appointed herself leader. "We're going to strike against the Mary-Sues!!" 

A/N: Wow, two updated stories in one night! I'm on a roll. I also need to go to bed. Excuse me if it's a bit short and repetitive, it's my brain talking. Also, if any of this offended anyone, I'm very sorry. You must remember, I am also a huge offender of the Mary-Sues. I just don't publish them anywhere for fear people will come at me with sticks and threaten to sic the red polka dotted stuffed elephants on me

You can see what I must live with, having my brain for a .. brain. 


	3. Chapter 3 Schmary Shoes

A/N: I HATE MYSELF!!! I SUCK!!! Ahem. It has taken nearly every ounce of self-motivation [and about 2 pints of gelato] to make me to pump up the energy to move my fingers and fire up nerves in my brain to write this. They ought to invent some sort of reminder machine that pokes you incessantly until you finish whatever it is you're supposed to do. I promised myself I'd update, since I'm going to be gone for two weeks [[HAH!! AN EXCUSE!!]] but I promise I shall update all of them once I get back. Or you can send me blended pickles. . or you know. Whatever.

The self-proclaimed leader beckons the rest of us around here in a football-esque huddle. "Ok. So Spot..went over to the dark side," she chokes out as the rest of us hang our heads in grief. For alas, without the ever fearless leader, what are we to do? Curl up, whimper, and generally carry on, no doubt.

"Do you know what that means?" She asks us in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

"Yes!" A delusioned, gawky and gangly girl shrieks. "We're DOOMED!!"

The other girls are nodding their heads and saying things like, "Doom," "End," and "Aah!"

The leader rolls her eyes to the heavens and looks as if she would like to throw strawberries at the girl, but instead throws her hands up. "Aaargh! Whatsa mattah with you people??"

We all look rather startled. Like deer. Without spots. Spotless deer, if you will. "Umm…we don't have accents?"

She ignores the anonymous comment and emphasizes, "We don't need Spot."

All of us gasp, even the ones who don't particularly care for him. He would be proud to see that so many girls are in need of him.

"We can hang on our own! We don't need that pompous, barmy, sexy codger! We can strike on our own!" Her voice gets stronger with every word. While we stare at her, open-mouthed and apparently speechless.

"It's up to us now! We gotta save the boys we love! C'mon!!" She shouts confidently. She's very loud. So loud, in fact, we're surprised none of the Mary-Sues have come out to investigate on who is interrupting their precious Newises-loving time. Or in fact, any pedestrians at all. It seems like they have all ceased to exist at the creation of these Stepford-Wives-_deja-vu_s.

We look at each other.

"But what if the Mary Sues..?" The previous girls questions, trailing off and shuddering at the thought of the perfect, asphyxia-causing girls.

"Mary sues, Schmary..er...Shoes. We're afraid of our own creations people!" the head author reiterates.

But this new revelation is startling.

"We.. WE made them up?" A petite girl asks.

"Uh…yeah!" She implicates in a very "duh" voice. "Where do you think they come from, Santa? Little _gnomes_??"

"That wouldn't surprise me," another girl mutters under her breath. "The gnomes are _everywhere_…"

Our new fearless leader, only not as sexy as Spot, ignores this comment yet again. "Look it's pretty obvious what we gotta do. We all made them up, we know what their weaknesses are!"

As our confidence rises, cries of "yeah!", "Kill them Mary-Sues!", and "DIE DIE DIE!" echo throughout the crowd.

"LET'S GET 'EM!!!" She screams, running off in no particular direction.

We look at each other again, shrug, and run after her screaming for the rights of newsie fanfiction writers everywhere to keep their boys.

"This is it," the leader chick hisses. It is now night, and we are all crouched uncomfortably in uncomfortable bushes, across the street from the Lodging House. "We need to stake this place out, and devise a plan to jump those damn ho's!" She also then proceeds to swear in a long, colorful string of various words.

In response to our surprised stares, she snaps, "I used to live in Oakland, okay??" She draws in a deep breath. "I'm just worked up. I had no idea they had so much power."

We nod a bit, and unconsciously edge slightly away from her. For the next few minutes, we stay there in silence with baited breath, watching silhouettes and listening to voices.

A shadow of fairly large height comes near the window, and all at once, one of the girls falls over in the bushes with a loud and distinctive _klunk_. "OW!!!"

"_SHHHHHH!!_" We all hush her at once, which in itself, is not what you would call quiet.

Boss Girl glares at the offender. "Do you want _them_ to hear you??"

"Sorry, sorry," she says hurriedly, still staring fixedly at the window. "That's _Skittery!_"

We crane our heads, hoping to somehow focus our eyes better in the dark. Unfortunately, we are not among some of the blessed Mary-Sues, who can see well in any lighting. "How can you TELL?" Another girl asks with a voice that is admiring and borderline this-girl-is-obsessed.

"A fan girl ALWAYS knows," the Skittery-obsessed-fan says knowingly, and sighs contentedly.

"You can look at him later!" says Guess Who. "We need to—" She is cut off by the sound of a creaking door. A curvy, girlish silhouette appears in front of the lodging house. Apparently, the _klunk_ was louder than we thought. Either that, or this is one of the Mary-Sues who has better-than-average hearing.

She takes a confident stride forward, a very determined look on her face. Our leader buries her head in her hands and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Damn Skittery fans." The Mary-Sue is about 4 feet away from us, when Blink's voice echoes from the door.

"What're ya doin' out heah, Stars?" He asks lovingly.

She whips her head around, neatly tossing her long dark blonde hair (that so annoyingly wisps into her eyes so she can't help but look innocent) over her shoulder. "Oh nothing, honey-kins," she replies sweetly. He walks up to her and wraps his arms around her waist from behind. "I thought I just heard a..noise."

"Noises ain't important. Not while yer around," he says dismissively and yet also passionately, while she giggles, all thoughts of finding intrusions out seemingly gone. As they start to really go at it in the middle of the street, we creep away as stealthily as we can. We can still hear Blink murmuring, "Mm, your hair smells like lemons." We aren't very successful in keeping quiet, since the Blink fans are beyond murderous, but we ignore their snarls of "Lemme' at 'er!" and drag them away. However, Blink and Stars, as she is quite perfectly called, are so lost in each other that they notice nothing.

We retreat to a corner further away, partly so we won't be seen, and partly because the Blink fans are both seething and nauseous.

"So?" The Skittery Fan asks. "What do we do now?"

The leader narrows her eyes in thought, staring up at the sky. Several of us, including one of the Blink fans hunched over on the sidewalk look up at the sky as well. "Eugh, _stars_. I don't think I can look at the sky AGAIN," the one-eyed-newsie-loving girl says, and promptly leans over the gutter and heaves. This starts off another round of throwing-up, ranting, and shuddering.

"Well," The Cheiftain of Newsie Fanfiction Authors says over the wonderful sound of hurling. "We gotta.." She is once again cut off by her own train of thought and looks around. "Hang on." She walks quietly around the corner that leads to the Lodging House and peers, wide-eyed. She gestures frantically for us to go over, putting a finger over her mouth. We peer around as well. All the lights in the Lodging House are now out, but what's this? One by one, the Mary-Sues are filing out the door, walking much more stealthily across the cobblestone pavement in boots than we do in sneakers.

"It's like watching Hitler's Army," the formerly-hurling-Blink-fan whispers disgustedly. Our Head Honcho is too deep in concentration to scold her for talking.

The last Mary-Sue, a petite and slender girl with boobs to die for, looks around the deserted street, and closes the door quietly, then follows the line of flawless teenaged girls. The line sneaks down the street and disappears around the corner, as quiet as if nothing is happening.

"C'mon!! We gotta follow them!" Our Head Girl whispers desperately and trips down the street as quietly as she can. We somehow follow suit, managing not to make too much noise, but still occasionally stepping on one another's heels.

How can so many Mary-Sues not make any noise at all? They walk silently and quickly, not talking or making eye contact with one another. Then, they stop. Quietly.

We stop too, but we end up pushing each other's backs and choking on mouthfuls of hair. Our hair isn't perfectly groomed or scented with lemons, either.

"Gross, when was the last time you took a shower??"

"That's none of your business!"

"Yes, that's right, I use Garnier Fructis. Doesn't it smell wonderful?"

"It certainly doesn't taste good.."

"SHUT UP!!!" You Know Who hisses. "We've gotten this far, and I'm not going to come all this way to get beaten by some monsters we created. And when I say we, I mean you guys. I certainly did not waste my time writing about perfect girls," she says in a superior tone.

"Oh, ex_cuse_ me.."

"Yeah, who made her boss?"

But we shut up anyway. We want to see our boys safe, too. Maybe even have a little fun with them.

The Mary-Sue's are in front of a large, factory type building. The girl at the front inserts a key into a door, which slides open smoothly. The line of girls files inside the dark interior, and after the last girl is inside, the door shuts once again. The unmistakable sound of a lock turning _clicks_.

Our Bell Cow does not even need to tell us twice. Or once, for that matter. We tiptoe across the ground to the dark and foreboding building under pale moonlight. All of us walk around to the side, but there does not appear to be any lights coming from inside.

The Skittery Fan suddenly points to the top. There is a skylight at the top, and there just happens to be light spilling out of it. We all stare at her, our meaning clear. How do we get up?

"Human pyramid," she whispers, quieter than usual. "I used to be a cheerleader." Faster than you could say, "The diabolical plan of Mary-Sues," we have formed our own human ladder. A bit wobbly, but doable.

The leader chick nods her head approvingly. "Glad to know cheerleading is good for something." Before the Skittery Fan can open her mouth in protest, our leader has started climbing to the top. However, just as she has reached the rooftop, one of the girls on the bottom gives a groan.

"Too. Heavy." She grunts. She sways uncertainly, almost knocking over her neighbor.

But her neighbor manages to get out, "Mush. Do it for Mush."

The former changes suddenly, straightens her arms, and nods her head resolutely. Head Girl breathes a sigh of relief, and hoists herself onto the roof. The former also sighs, contentedly, for now the load is lightening. One by one, we are pulled onto the rooftop, and once we are all there, we peer through the skylight cautiously, almost afraid of what we are about to see.

A/N: There. Is that long enough? I promise I shall update it whence I get back! This may be drawn out a bit—a lot of my stories are like that. Just let me know if it gets too long.

Anykurwa…

Chaos89: New reviewer! Yay! Haha. Don't worry, Spot shall return to the bright side.

BoogityWhup14: Oh allright! I take back my apology, then. :P pity you don't like the red polka dots.. Whatever, all types of elephants that are used for our evil bidding are fine with me!

The world MUST MUST MUST be warned. I wonder if we can send out fliers of some sort..

Asp: Thanks! It's nice to have encouragement.

Coin: YAY!! Then my purpose is fulfilled. To make you .. crack up. (yes, sometimes ONLY you, actually)


End file.
